The Small, Treasured Moments
by Of Darklings and Shadow Men
Summary: "They looked back once, at the world that had caused both of them pain, sorrow, loss, and maybe, in the small treasured moments, happiness. Then they walked together into the unknown, vanishing into the air like petals tossed in the wind." (The Darkling's last goodbye to Alina)


_**The Small, Treasured Moments**_

_**All right, well, unlike my other story, this is not an alternate ending to Ruin & Rising; this is how I think it really ended, after the Darkling died. It's a short story, just a little scene from the end of the last book. Reviews really make my day, so if you like it, let me know! :)**_

_**Note: I own nothing from the Grisha Trilogy.**_

_**Enjoy the story! :D**_

Not many people in Ravka believed in ghosts or spirits. As the crowd gathered around the pyre and cheered the Sun Summoner's name, they gave no thought as to what would happen to her soul, her thoughts and feelings. They all assumed that, as a Saint, she would be content to move on and watch over them, instead of staying to walk the earth. No such thing as spirits.

They didn't notice the woman standing near the back of the crowd, watching as the flames leapt for the sky. Her back was straight, her posture as strong as it had been when she was young. Her hair fell down her back in a rippling sheet of ebony, untouched by the slight breeze. Her eyes, which had been pits of swirling shadow, were now as sharp as flint, gleaming like obsidian. She was beautiful. But no one noticed her. No one even spared her a passing glance.

She peered through the mass of people, searching for a particular face. A smile touched her lips when she found it: a girl with hair as white as the moon's halo and dark brown eyes. She was watching the burning with a sad, lost expression on her face. The black-haired woman sighed quietly and shook her head. The saint had actually shown up to her own burning, to watch her lookalike put to rest beside the Darkling. "Foolish girl," the woman muttered, though her voice didn't hold the bite it once had. She took a step forward.

"How is this possible?" The voice that spoke behind her was quiet and as smooth as a black cat stepping from the shadows. The woman stiffened in disbelief. Then she quickly composed herself and turned to face him with a calm expression.

The boy who stood behind her had a shock of thick hair as black as hers and his eyes were the gray of a winter morning. He gazed around him in faint bewilderment, at the people who didn't even look at him, and then his gaze came back to rest on her.

She tipped her head to one side. "There are a lot of things that can be made possible, boy," she reminded him.

He shook his head. "But the things I did..." he trailed off.

"True regret," she replied gently, "can sometimes be enough for anyone to be forgiven. Even if it was only felt at the very end."

For the first time in her life, she saw his eyes clear in dawning realization. "Regret?"

She had to smile. Even now, he was still having trouble believing that he could be here like this. "Don't get too happy just yet," she warned harshly. "I don't have to take you with me, you know. I could leave you here to be..._bored _for all eternity." She paused for a moment. Swallowed hard. "I still remember what you did," she added quietly.

He blinked. Then he stepped forward until he was in front of her. His gaze had dropped to the ground and when he spoke, his voice shook slightly. "I'm sorry. I know I hurt you and it was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I should've found a way to—"

He got no further because at that moment, she wrapped him into a hug. At first, he stood frozen, shocked at her arms around him, holding him the way she had when he was young. Then his arms came up and he hugged her back. She heard the rough breath he let out and clung to him tighter.

"Mom," he whispered hoarsely, closing his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

She hushed him with words from his childhood whispered in his ear, a soothing lullaby he hadn't heard in centuries. A tremble ran through him and he allowed himself to stand safely in her embrace for the first time in a long long time. When his ragged breathing had calmed, she released him. Her smile was gentler now, no longer the hard slash it had been before.

"It's time to go," she said, and he didn't ask her what she meant. He only nodded. She turned and began the long walk through the crowd. He followed, weaving between people calling out the name of a saint they believed was dead. They never noticed him or his mother, never knew of their presence. It was as though they were no more visible than wind whispering through tree leaves.

The woman paused suddenly. She had reached the white-haired girl, standing alone in the midst of the worshipping people. She gazed at her former student for a long moment. Then she rested one hand on the girl's shoulder, a comforting, unfelt touch. "I am glad," she said softly, "that you chose to fight rather than run, in the end." And though the girl couldn't hear her, the black-haired woman knew the words would bring comfort. The woman patted the girl's shoulder one last time and then began to walk away.

The boy stopped beside the girl as well. His eyes were trained on her face, full of an emotion that looked suspiciously like longing. He watched as her eyes drifted shut, the calls of _sankta _rising around her. She whispered, so quietly that he almost didn't hear, "Aleksander."

His breath left him. He drew close to her, so close that her warm, sunlit scent flooded his senses and left him dizzy. He trailed a hand lightly over her snowy hair and leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. "_Moi vykup_," he murmured. "I will wait for you. There will always be a place for you by my side." He watched her lips part slightly, almost as though she'd heard him. He brushed a kiss to her cheek and then stepped away. When he glanced up, he noticed the knowing glint in his mother's eyes as she waited for him a couple feet away. He huffed at her smirk and crossed to her side again.

They looked back once, at the world that had caused both of them pain, sorrow, loss, and maybe, in the small, treasured moments, happiness. Then they walked together into the unknown, vanishing into the air like petals tossed in the wind.

From her place hidden in the crowd, the saint raised her hand to her cheek, sure that she'd felt the memory of a touch.

**Translation (based on Google XD)**

_Moi vykup. _My redemption.


End file.
